


Grandfather

by Fairleigh



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark Ending, Dominant Darth Vader, Force Bond (Star Wars), Incest, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage, Resurrection, Submissive Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19885981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/pseuds/Fairleigh
Summary: He found the tome in Snoke’s throne room on theSupremacywhen they returned to scavenge the wreckage three weeks after the Resistance’s ridiculous stand on Crait. It was hidden under the seat of the throne itself. The entire time, Snoke had literally been sitting on the answers he’d been seeking.





	Grandfather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucymonster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/gifts).



He found the tome in Snoke’s throne room on the _Supremacy_ when they returned to scavenge the wreckage three weeks after the Resistance’s ridiculous stand on Crait. It was hidden under the seat of the throne itself. The entire time, Snoke had literally been sitting on the answers he’d been seeking.

Kylo Ren figured there was a certain irony to be found in that. Possibly even poetic justice? He wasn’t all that certain of his use of literary devices, truth be told — they’d never been his strong suit in grammar school.

Neither, for that matter, had non-Basic-derived modern and ancient languages. Other languages were what droids were for … or, well, that’s what he figured they would be for if he hadn’t learned to despise their company after one of Lando’s custom models tried to disembowel him with a kitchen knife as a toddler.

Besides, it wasn’t as if doing well in grammar school or getting along well with droids was going to help Kylo read an esoteric dialect of the ancient Sith tongue.

As much as possible, he was economical. He memorized the text of the word “resurrection” and combed through the 500-odd pages of cramped writing until he found that very first reference to the ritual. Then, as best he could, he skipped over the boring philosophical maunderings of dead Sith Lords and zeroed in on the practical how-to instructions.

The ritual was tediously complicated but not difficult _per se_ for one as magnificently strong in the Force as Kylo. It involved lots of meditation and chanting and, at the very end of the process, a little bit of arterial bloodletting. It’d also required either a piece of the host’s body or something that had been important to him in life, which would’ve been the most difficult part of the whole shebang to accomplish if Kylo hadn’t already had the mask in his possession.

He had Luke to thank for that three-day stopover on the Endor moon. That was probably ironic, too. Luke had spent most of it catching up with Ewoks, which had left his apprentice plenty of opportunity to explore …

In any event, there was no celestial music or ominous rumbles of thunder to herald his arrival. One moment, Kylo was alone in the room. The next? He was just _there_.

“Grandfather,” Kylo said, falling to his knees in obeisance.

~*~*~

“Who are you? Are you Luke’s son?” Vader asked. It wasn’t the most auspicious of beginnings.

He didn’t actually need Kylo to answer that question, though. He had only to search his feelings, and that took but an instant.

“No,” Vader said, the rich, artificial tones of his mask’s vocoder thoughtful, musing. “You’re not Luke’s son, although I sense his influence upon you. You’re the son of my daughter. The princess. And the son of,” here Vader’s voice dripped with undisguised contempt, “the smuggler.”

Kylo felt an involuntary shudder race through his body at the sound of that voice — at last, he was in the presence of a true master! A master worthy of service! A master whose presence in the Force was potent, awe-inspiring, and, well, absolutely _masterful_ … and whose presence in the material realm was nothing to be scoffed at either.

The animal attraction Kylo felt for Vader was instant and undeniable. Vader was taller even than Kylo, who’d always prided himself on his height, as well as much broader and heavier; he’d have no trouble physically overpowering Kylo, even if it weren’t for the cybernetic enhancements and unparalleled strength in the Force. And then, the inscrutable lines of that plastisteel mask, noble yet alien, so supremely indifferent to Kylo’s desires. Kylo’s cock was hardening beneath his robes. Yes, he could debase himself before his revered grandfather, accept his discipline, his just punishment for his many shortcomings (and there were many, so many) — and oh, oh, oh! Yes, he _would_ do it with pleasure, with the ecstasy of perfect, abject submission — and yes, Vader … Vader …

_Vader sensed his feelings._

As a matter of fact, Vader sensed Kylo’s feelings with the intensity and surety which he might have sensed his own, and moreover, he sensed that Kylo knew this. He was not offended. He was, possibly, mildly amused.

But this was not the expected bond between Force-sensitive family members. This was something other. Something stronger. More powerful. _Permanent_.

“My return is both facilitated by and conditioned upon an unbreakable bond in the Force,” Vader said as he came to realize what Kylo had succeeded in doing. “Our destinies are — now and forever — inextricably intertwined, young Solo.”

~*~*~

They were married, him and Vader. The ancient Sith tome even used the word “marriage” in its description of the resurrection ritual.

At first, they enjoyed a kind of honeymoon period. Kylo had sent Hux on a wild bantha chase to Arkanis, and while he had no doubt whatsoever that venom-mite Hux would use the opportunity to visit his homeworld to rally support for his inevitable leadership bid — or attempted coup, whichever proved more convenient — for a few months at least Kylo wouldn’t have to worry about a blaster bolt to his back. He could focus exclusively on getting Vader up to speed on the First Order’s mission to restore justice and security to the post-Imperial galaxy.

“Your future was unfairly cut short, Grandfather,” Kylo said. “I have brought you back to life to finish what you started, and we will rule the galaxy together, side by side!”

Vader was an excellent listener and a fast learner. Only a fool would mistake the man in the life support suit for an impassive, inattentive statue. And although he had a good head for politics, he preferred a direct approach. Whereas Kylo fumed and raged and left a trail of collateral damage in his wake whenever the wheels of the First Order bureaucracy failed to turn as fast as he desired, Vader simply Force-choked every mediocre officer and middle manager who displeased him until competency arrived to fill the gaps in the chain of command.

And it always seemed to eventually, without fail. Sometimes Kylo wondered how Vader could be so confident about the extent of their human resources.

Vader’s style of hand to hand combat was also unexpectedly straightforward in its tactics. One of his first acts after his revival was to build himself a new lightsaber, and he and Kylo sparred in the training salle almost daily. Like Kylo, he preferred the powered strikes of Djem So, but unlike Kylo, he had perfected an economy of movement which drew upon one-handed Makashi dueling tactics _and_ vibroblade-sharp Force precognition. The more Kylo flailed, the faster Vader disarmed and vanquished him.

“Your powers are weak, young one,” Vader said one afternoon after he had disarmed Kylo, the tip of Vader’s blade less than a millimeter from his throat. “I could strike you down right here and now, if I wished it so.”

Kylo chewed on the inside of his cheek until his mouth filled with blood to prevent himself from crying out. He was coming in his pants, untouched.

~*~*~

Vader _couldn’t_ just strike Kylo down, however. Marriage in the Force, the Sith tome had said. Their destinies were inextricably intertwined. If one of them died, both of them would. Otherwise, they were immortal.

But that initial honeymoon period was definitely over.

Strangely, Kylo had learned little about Vader’s past from Vader through their bond, but somehow Vader had managed to learn absolutely everything there was to know about Kylo. He knew of his estrangement from his family; he knew how that made him yearn for belonging and a sense of place. He knew how Kylo’s anger and desire to dominate sprung from his deeply hidden desire _not_ to be angry and to surrender to a trusted higher authority …

… and of course he knew aaaall about Kylo’s most secret, shameful erotic desires.

“I cannot destroy you without destroying myself, but you are not fit to rule. You are fit only to serve. To kneel. On your hands and knees!”

“But — ” Kylo protested weakly, even though resistance was futile. He could feel Vader pulling on the threads of Force which bound them together, an irresistible demand for Kylo’s submission.

“My commands are only given once. Do not make me repeat myself.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

He knelt before Vader. He bent low, locking his arms, palms flat. They were in Vader’s private quarters, and Kylo was on a bed he was sure Vader never used for sleeping. He was naked, his cock proudly risen from his groin, and he sensed more than felt Vader move into position behind him. His hair had fallen like a curtain over his face; he did not dare turn his head to look. Though he feared what was coming, he could do naught but remain still, silent and meek, and obey.

That first mighty thrust forced tears out of the corners of Kylo’s eyes. The second knocked the breath from his lungs. The third he felt in his chest, the fourth, his throat. That delicious stretch, that powerful rhythm, that scrape against his prostate that made stars explode across his vision — ah, that remorseless in and out, in and out, in and out pace was more than Kylo could have imagined! He was hardly conscious of achieving orgasm; by then he may have been screaming.

The fucking seemed endless. When Vader came, he did not stop but continued thrusting straight through the pulses of his ejaculation, and straight through a second ejaculation, and a third. The wet squelching sound was obscene, their mingled scents intoxicating, and Vader’s semen was leaking out of Kylo’s much-used hole, trickling down the back of his scrotum and his thighs —

Vader would rule the galaxy, but Kylo Ren would not rule by his side. In that, he’d been oh so very mistaken. No, Kylo Ren would be where he was right now — and doing exactly what he was doing right now —

On his knees. Submitting.

And loving it.

Forever.


End file.
